


Shower Me With Kisses

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Category: DCU, DCU (Movies), Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Clois, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, shower lovin'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy having a famous boyfriend, especially when your schedules don't exactly mix. Lois cherishes the times when her life intersects with Clark's, the moments in between, like a nice hot shower....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shower Me With Kisses

Lois was just getting in the shower as Clark came in; she could smell the heavy, hot smell of fresh coffee brewing before she even heard him. The sun was barely up, the sky a sort of gunmetal early morning gray at the tops of the tall buildings, their windows reflecting silver in the soft light. She smiled and ran her fingers through her hair, washing the remnants of the shampoo out of the dark ginger strands. She heard his feet shuffling on the bedroom carpet, the door creaking slightly; he yawned and groaned slightly, making Lois’ grin grow. “Busy night?” she called over the patter of the water. She laughed when the response was another groan. “There’s still some hot water.”

The shower curtain pulled back and he stepped in behind her; her sigh was heated, pleased, as she felt his brawny chest pressing up against her back, every defined, chiseled muscle furred with luxuriant chest hair, sleek, thick but not coarse. He put his big hands on her hips and her eyes fluttered closed—until she felt him bow his head over her own, into the stream of the shower, his bushy curls blocking the water. She made a small, disapproving sound at the back of her throat, and then squealed when he shook his mane out, droplets of water flying everywhere, raining down on her. “You’re such an ass sometimes,” she laughed, lifting her hands from her hips and wrapping them around her.

“I’m acting out because I have a famous girlfriend,” he murmured, dropping his head to her shoulder, pressing his lips there first, and then to the side of her neck. She let out a breathless chuckle now, one short burst of a laugh.

“Yeah,” she shot back wryly, “it’s really hard.”

He laughed quietly, playfully, bumping his hips up against her round backside. “Wrong choice of words?” he inquired mischievously, his burgeoning cock nestling into her crack, sliding, slick with the running water, between her thighs.

“Best choice of words,” she whispered breathlessly, leaning her head back into his solid chest as his hands slid from the little round mound of her stomach up to the soft, hanging globes of her breasts, cupping them, thumbs and forefingers pinching the flushing nipples gently, plucking at them. Always so careful, his muscles thrumming with his suppressed power, his strength. Lois knew her own body, knew the small imperfections: the fact that one breast, her left, hung lower than the other; the stretch marks; the dark, colorless bush between her legs. She wasn’t self-conscious of them, never thought of them as anything but a part of herself. But the way that Clark touched her made her feel as if she were perfect, savoring everything that made her body unique, beautiful to him.

One hand reached between her thighs and cupped her mound while the other still worked at her breast, tugging playfully at that puckered dark cherry peak, making it so deliciously sensitive, each pluck of his fingers inspiring a kindred spasm in her belly, deep inside of her. He cupped her throat, urging her head back, the water falling on her face a moment before her covered it with his own for a kiss. His rough hand moved between her thighs, slipping between the lips of her slit, finding that treasured pearl at the heart of her furrow. His thumb settled against her clit as the other fingers ran along the wet petals, the moist, sweet nymphae, pink and tender. He neglected no part of her, stimulating her completely. A simple, universally widespread act, and Clark still saw the wonder in it, the perfection of the human body, of two bodies making love to one another. And he made her feel share in that wonder, through his own awe, the adoration and completeness of his touch.

She was panting, beginning to wriggle against him with impatience, her hands reaching back, up over her shoulders, her head, to grasp at him, to pull at his hair and raking her nails against his impervious skin, his steel physique. He filled her hollow with first one thick finger, and then another, slowly pumping them into her until her was submerged in her honeyed velvet up to his second knuckle. Still rubbing insistently against her clit, pushing her toward the precipice and then over it. Her silken insides clutched at his fingers fitfully, sucking them deeper, his hand helping her ride through, soothing her orgasm into a sweet afterglow. She clung to him, her knees trembling, her breath huffing.

She grasped the edge of the tub and perched on the lip, thinking that she wished she still smoked, because a cigarette would really go down smooth right now. He was grinning as she glanced up at him, his cock still hard, still bobbing at his groin as if gloating. She blew out a sulky gasp, her shoulders still trembling a little. “Proud of yourself?” He didn’t answer, only kept grinning, cocking his head to the side modestly. Smug bastard. “You’re still dirty,” she noted, grabbing for the body wash and lathering her hands with it, running them over his chest, the soapy water making it a tantalizingly slick glide. Down to his strapping thighs and around to his muscular ass, her fingernails biting into his skin there. Back over his hip to his cock, swinging like an almost vertical baton as she took it in both hands and stroked.

“Lois.” Her name was a heated sigh with a slight growl to it. He still tasted faintly soapy as she wrapped her lips around him, her seat on level with his throbbing organ, making it easier to nearly lean forward and gobble him up. The scent of him strong, overwhelming, musky, masculine; salty on her tongue as her lips wrapped around him, smacking against his flesh as she pushed her mouth down along his impressive length, her tongue lashing at him. Pulling back, pumping him still with one hand as her puckered lips gave a loud, wet pop as they left his shaft, spittle connecting her mouth to the plump head. She used the tip of her tongue to lick him, the ridge around the crown to the tender underside, lapping up to the gap at the tip. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she could feel him quake, keeping all of that incredible power in check. Wanting to thrust his full length into the warm embrace of her mouth. “Lois,” he said again, and this time she heard the desperation there.

And he was pulling her to her feet—no, wrapping her legs around him, effortlessly holding her in his arms, taking all of her weight as if she was nothing, cinching her with one arm while the other reached down and guided his cock against her, into her. They both let out a shout as he hitched his hips and drove himself inside of her, to the thick hilt. He paused, not trusting himself for a moment, both of them panting, resting his nose against hers. She felt him inside of her, his pulse hot and throbbing. And then he began to move, bouncing her against him, pushing up into her again and again. Their mouths met, swallowing the wails and whimpers of one another, the growls of pleasure, or impending fulfillment.

He pushed her up against the pipe the showerhead sat atop, one of her hands reaching up to grasp it, to gain leverage to hitch her hips to meet his thrusts, angling her body so that her clitoris brushed his sleekly downy groin, pushing into him. That moment, that perfect moment, lasted, and lasted, his big hands gripping her backside, his cock plunging into her clinging silk over and over again, deep, hard, until she felt those delicious tremors begin to wrack her womb, and she was coming once more. He followed her, the first explosion of his seed surging into her so strongly she gasped; he pulled out, gushing in hot streams just inside her lips, against the wall, on her thighs.

“Wow,” Lois panted, her brow furrowed, her small hands touching his face, urging him to open the eyes he’d screwed shut in his bliss.

“Wow,” he agreed, holding her tremulous body to his.

She poured the coffee, strong and black for her, milk and no sugar for him, wrapped in warm, dry robe, her wet hair piled on the top of her head. He leaned his backside against the countertop and crossed her arms, cocking an eyebrow at her. “What?” she asked with practiced, confrontational innocence. “I’m acting out because I have a famous boyfriend.” He chuckled and bobbed his head, conceding the point.


End file.
